It was here. We were there.

Frank and I were sitting on the couch in front of our picture window.

The house started whistling, my ears were a-popping, and then I heard what seemed to be the whole neighborhood’s trees coming down. The tree directly behind us snapped off about 15 feet up, dropping the crown ten or so feet short of where we were sitting.

Maybe 15 seconds later, the power went out and the emergency alerts came on.

A tornado had been sighted.

We grabbed the kids and took cover, waiting until the warning was over, watching our phones all along for news.

The more I read, the more it seemed like we must have been awfully close to where that tornado first touched down.

We got the kids settled back into bed, went into our unfinished second floor to try to mitigate the damage to the rest of the house from a couple sheets of sheathing and a whole lotta shingles gone from the roof.

We finally were ready to inspect the damage to the rest of property around midnight. The sheds behind our house were obliterated (don’t worry – we are glad to see them go – they were leftovers from the hoarder who owned the place before us.) I started thinking maybe our property was actually in the path of the tornado.

I kept checking the news, hoping to see info on the exact path of the tornado, but no one was reporting.

This morning, my next door neighbor confirmed. When I thought the whole neighborhood’s trees were coming down? She was watching a tornado touch down on my back sheds.

So, you know, I was just feeding my baby while a tornado touched down 50 feet away.

Is not God gracious?

The tornado was here. We were right there.

We are alive and well and slept (well, some of the kids slept) in our own beds.

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